Playing Ball
by LuvDJudge
Summary: The judge and Mark share a few moments in (basketball) court.


**PLAYING BALL**

by Susan Zodin

(This is a short scene which I originally meant to be part of a larger plot. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any to insert it into, so I submit it here as an independent excerpt of the everyday life of H&MC.)

The Judge and Mark were engaged in one of their infamous "to the death" basketball games, each pushing, punching, and wrestling with the other. McCormick's left eye was puffing up from a wild swing Hardcastle had made to block a shot, and the jurist was favoring his right foot, stepped on "accidentally" by the younger man while fighting for control of the ball. Mark spun around out of Hardcastle's block and sent a three pointer in through the net with an overhand pitch. Passing the rebound to the Judge, he grinned. "Beat _that_. One handed. Got the gift, huh, Hardcase?"

"Got _something_, kiddo—can't say what yet. Probably unprintable." He dribbled twice then sent a fast shot up from the side. The ball hit and lodged in the space between the rim and the backboard. "Damn!"

McCormick clamped his teeth shut on his lip, but the sounds of giggling came through. "Sorry, Judge…I was wrong. I guess _you've _got the gift too. What do you call _that_ shot…the Hardcastle Hangup?"

Milt glared at him. "_Very_ funny, smart boy. Got any more comments before I throw you up there with it?"

Mark backed off, holding up a hand in protest. "Hey…_sorry_. Want me to help you get it down?"

"Just _stand back_, McCormick," ordered the Judge. "I _don't_ need your help with this…and I may not need it _at all_ if you keep up this behavior. He reached up as high as he could, but his fingertips were about three inches from the basketball.

"_Stretch_, Judge," encouraged the younger man, grinning. "Come on, just a _little _more."

The jurist stood on his tiptoes and strained. His index finger brushed the edge of the hoop rim. Jumping didn't help. "Well don't just _stand_ there, McCormick," he groused in exasperation. "Give me a hand!"

Mark obediently put down the towel he had been wiping his face with and clapped. He ducked as Hardcastle's arm took a hard swing at him.

"Would you like to go for _two_, kiddo? Get over here and get this damned thing unstuck!"

McCormick strolled over nonchalantly, reached up a long arm, and tipped the ball off the rim to the ground. "I don't see why you had so much trouble, Judge," he quipped. Slowly looking _down_ at the older man, he grinned. "Well, _maybe_…"

"_Don't_ say it, kiddo," Hardcastle warned.

"_What_?" Mark put on his most innocent look.

"_You_ know."

"Now, your honor…I would _never_ make fun of your…uh…_short_comings."

Hardcastle's fist jabbed in his gut. "Got any more smart remarks, sonny?"

McCormick took a few deep breaths and straightened up slowly, rubbing his stomach. "Nope. Just ran out."

Hardcastle picked up the ball. "Good. Replay that point." He bounced the ball, faked to the right—shoving Mark with his elbow, then threw a high lob which swished through the net. "Two. And game." He picked up his towel, then threw an arm around Mark's shoulders. "Come on, kiddo, almost time for lunch. Hit the showers."

"Hey, Judge?"

"What?"

"Would you like to go to the circus next week?"

"Now why on earth would I want to do _that_, McCormick? I've already got a clown in residence _here_!"

"I just thought you could borrow one of those stick-things they walk around on—_stilts_ or whatever they call them. Would help you get out of awkward situations during the games."

"I've got an alternative, kiddo," the jurist grinned. "We can visit the landscape company down the street and use one of their chain-saws to cut _you_ down to size!"

"I never meant anything disrespectful, Judge," Mark chuckled. "You know I look up to you…even when I hafta look _down_!"

A towel popped behind him, stinging his bottom. "Ow! Hey, Hardcase—you just pounded me into the ground during the game—trying to injure me for life?"

"Of course not—you've got to finish mowing the lawn this afternoon. And after that, you can start cleaning out the front fountain filter."

"Don't know about that, Hardcase." Mark grimaced as he limped toward the Gatehouse. "I may just have to take a prolonged rest, after an extremely long soak in a hot tub, then spend the evening immersed in a good book. Got any good books around here, your honor?"

"There's always the law texts in the den, kiddo. Got a fascinating case for you to look up—_Hardcastle vs. McCormick_, California, 1983. I'm following its progress carefully."

"Does it have a good plot? I like stuff that keeps my attention. Action, excitement, you know—reading for entertainment. How's it end?"

"Hasn't got one yet—I'm still working on it. Can't decide if it's a horror story or a comedy. It looks like the protagonist is heading for a fall unless he shapes up, though."

"Square or Triangle shape?"

Hardcastle laughed and pushed McCormick through the door of the Gatehouse. "Get out of here! Lunch in half an hour."

"I'll be there. Then I've got to lower the basketball hoop. Just what height _did_ they set it at back in 1910?" He smiled sweetly at the Judge, closing the door on the bellow of "McCormmmickkk!"

END


End file.
